Page 90 of Employing Patience

The words twist my stomach. “Like you could resist.”

His lips twitch, and he goes to step backward, but my hands catch his waist before I can control them.

“Apparently, you’re the one with trouble resisting,” he notes.

This time, when he moves closer, he presses his whole body to mine. “Let me be perfectly fucking clear.” He grabs my jaw, tilting my head up to meet his eye. “You wanted to catch me? Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded. But now you have to pay the price of my attention, and you’re going to get it. Because I’m not done with you, and until I am, you’re mine. No other men. No other women. Just me.”

I let out a shivery exhale, tilting my face until our mouths are a breath apart. “Same goes for you, stud.” I grab his erection through his pants. “This is for me and only me.”

Art laughs, the kind of indulgent laugh that creases his eyes. “Joke’s on you. That traitor has been yours for months.”

“What an awesome wingman. Should I thank him?”

“Later.” Art’s lips brush mine before he takes a swift step back. “My one rule is no fooling around during work hours.”

“That’s fair.”

“Good. Now, get your sexy ass away from me before I break it.”

I leave, half jogging down the hall to get back out there, still trying to process the fact that Art … asked me to be exclusive. Kind of. For sexual purposes only.

The optimist in me won’t stop picturing how I can turn that into more.

28

ART

Joey joins me upstairs when his shift ends. We go straight into my bedroom, where Joey immediately makes himself at home. He kicks off his shoes and pulls his shirt over his head, but before he can reach for his pants, I stop him.

“So impatient.” I chuckle into his neck, wrapping my arms around him from behind and stilling his hands with mine. “Where’s the fire?”

“You’re the one who pulls fire alarms, remember?”

“But I’m not the one scrambling to strip off like it’s an Olympic race.” The hurry he’s in confuses me because even though we enjoy a bit of banter and teasing, when it comes to sex, we usually take our time.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he asks, craning his head around to see me. It’s dark in here, with only a single lamp in the corner, but I catch a glimpse of something I bet he’s not expecting me to see.

Nerves.

Not nerves like last time where he wasn’t sure about being fucked and how it all worked, but nerves over me. I’m making him nervous.

Joey.

I’d laugh if I didn’t find it so … disappointing.

And it’s not him I’m disappointed in. It’s me. I thought I’d made it clear earlier that I want this to keep happening. He doesn’t need to be worried about me being scared off or whatever the hell is happening here.

“No,” I answer, and I think it surprises us both.

Getting off is something I love to do. It’s no secret. I’m the sex guy. But despite having the reputation of Mr. Cheap and Nasty, I like to think I’m a good guy to the people I hook up with. I look out for them; I’m considerate. I want the guy I’m with to feel wanted and cared for. To have the illusion of affection, even while we fuck like rabbits.

I never, ever want to make someone feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable with what we’re doing.

“What do you mean?”

I take Joey’s hand, then walk over to sit on the side of the bed and pull him to stand between my legs. He still smells like me, and while I miss the bergamot, there’s something primal about pressing my nose to the soft skin of his stomach and being surrounded by my scent.

“You smell good,” I say.

---